


A Very Happy Christmas

by madqueenjes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 08:09:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madqueenjes/pseuds/madqueenjes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My Sherlock Secret Santa gift on tumblr! Short, super fluffy, Christmas...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Very Happy Christmas

Two years. It had been two years since Sherlock had stumbled back to the flat, half alive, bruised and bloody, sporting a freshly wrought scar across the left side of his jaw. Two years since John had dropped his favourite mug to the floor, staining the carpet of the sitting room with milky tea. Two years since the two of them had fallen into each others arms, desperate to find every change three years of separation had brought them. And in those two years, one had not gone a day without the other.

At first it had been terrible. Sherlock’s body was a wreck, John’s heart still broken from having ‘lost’ Sherlock three years before. Neither of them could put into words what had been sacrificed on either end to save their own sanity. 27 days after Sherlock returned, John forgave him. 84 days after his return, they became lovers. 422 days after his return, John asked Sherlock to marry him. And 693 days after he returned, they married, vowing to spend eternity, or whatever meager time they were permitted, together.  
John had insisted on another party, just like they had six years ago, the first Christmas they knew one another. Lestrade and Molly would attend of course, leaving their darling Jenna with Molly’s parents. Mrs. Hudson would come, though her health wouldn’t permit her loading the happy gathering down with excessive amounts of baked goods and eggnog. Harry would not attend, as she was adamant that Sherlock was the worst choice her brother could have made in a partner, to which Sherlock often agreed, much to John’s chagrin. However, Sherlock’s constant pouting and reasoning won out, leaving the two of them alone on Christmas Eve, settled before the fire in their favoured chairs.

“Lovely night, don’t you think?” John whispered over his near empty mug of tea, smiling at the shadows cast on his husband’s face. “I think it may actually snow for Christmas.”

Sherlock turned his eyes up, cataloging for the thousandth time the way John’s eyes scrunched up when he smiled, noting every fine line. “Nearly a foot. We might be stranded here for days. Terrible, isn’t it?”

John smiled, chuckling quietly. “Tragic, almost. Whatever shall we do?”

“No idea. Guess we’ll just have to play Cluedo and hope for a swift rescue.”

“Oh no! That’s never going to happen again!” John cracked out, tossing his head back in a laugh. “Maybe we’ll burn the board for heat. That’s the extent of what I want to do with it.” John rose, dropping a kiss on Sherlock’s hair before crossing to the kitchen to turn the kettle on. “I have an idea, love.”

Sherlock followed John, wrapping his arms around the shorter man. “Yes?” He nuzzled John’s neck, dropping small kisses along his throat.

“Let’s make Christmas cookies. It’s been years since I’ve baked. And you would look rather dashing in an apron.” John turned in Sherlock’s arms, kissing him softly, smiling. “Please?”

Sherlock made a show of rolling his eyes but hugged his lover tightly, dropping a kiss on his nose. “I suppose we could, though it seems rather silly holiday activity, John. And we’ll need to clean the kitchen. Unless you like your cookies with a hint of hydrochloric acid.” Sherlock released John and quickly began gathering his equipment. Secretly he was pleased, not that he would ever share that with John. They cleaned in silence, John concentrating on removing layers of god-knows-what from the counter tops, Sherlock focusing on carefully storing non-reactive chemicals together. Soon they had a workable space and John set to pulling ingredients he had bought by chance a few weeks prior, should the occasion to use them arise.

“You know John, there is something I’ve never mentioned about myself.”

John lifted a brow in question, “Oh, love? What is that?”

Sherlock smiled, setting vanilla and eggs on the counter, “I am an excellent baker. Did you have a specific recipe in mind? If not, I would like to use my favourite.”

Jaw dropping slightly, John’s face lit up in astonishment. “Really? I didn’t know you could even boil water without the kettle, Sherlock.” He chuckled, lifting onto his toes to kiss his husband. “Figures. You do know everything, don’t you? Alright then, off you go. What do you need from me?”  
“Let’s start with butter, white and brown sugar, eggs, and vanilla.” Sherlock quickly began measuring as John handed him each ingredient, expertly folding everything together from memory. John turned on his favorite holiday album in the sitting room, affectionately watching Sherlock amaze him yet again. “Do you think we could borrow cookie cutters from Mrs. Hudson, John?”

“No need, I bought some, just in case. I think you’ll enjoy them.” John laughed, grabbing a box from under the counter. He pulled a package from the box, holding it up for Sherlock. “Crime scene shapes. Thought it was perfect.”

Sherlock chuckled, amused at John’s excitement. “They do seem rather appropriate for us, don’t they?” Sherlock wiped his hands and dipped a finger into the bowl, holding it out to John for a taste of the batter. “Thoughts?”

John wrapped his lips around Sherlock’s finger and sighed as he licked the batter off. “God, that’s amazing, Sherlock! Where did you learn to make these? They’re going to be delicious.”

“The batter needs to chill for a few hours. Dinner?” Sherlock put the bowl in the fridge, careful to place it as far from any body parts as possible. As he turned back to John, his phone lit up with a text. Reading, he smiled brightly. “How much do you love me, John?”

Groaning, John dropped his head as theatrically as possible, knowing what would follow. “It’s Christmas Eve, Sherlock. We aren’t suppose to work on Christmas.” Knowing it was a futile effort to reason with Sherlock when there was a murder to investigate, he rolled his eyes and grinned. “You and Lestrade owe me. Big time. Let’s go, before it starts snowing.”

Seven hours later Sherlock and John returned home, snow melting into their coats and flakes coating their hair. They had run halfway across London, pursuing their prey and for once, both of them returned unscathed.  
“That was ridiculous. No more holiday murders, alright? Next year we leave them to The Yard. Get the fire on, yeah?” John shrugged off his coat and made his way into the kitchen, fumbling with stiff fingers to retrieve mugs and turn the kettle on. He opened the fridge, shivering at the cold air, and picked up the milk and cookie batter. “Sherlock, we have cookies to make! In the kitchen, now!”  
Sherlock smiled as John fluttered about the room, his enthusiasm rubbing off a bit. “Calm down, John, it’s just cookies. You’re entirely too excited for this,” he chided.

“Hey, we chased down a murderer for you, I just want to make cookies. Fair trade? Grab the rolling pin and dust the table down.”

The pair made quick work of rolling out the dough and creating a slew of “victims” to bake. They discussed the case, Sherlock running on about incompetence of NSY and Anderson’s destruction of evidence through his idiocy. John just smiled, too accustomed to his husband’s complaints to bother interjecting any defenses. After an hour, they were surrounded by dozens of corpse-shaped cookies. John pulled out the collection of decorating supplies and set to work.

John’s cookies sported various jumpers, as holiday themed as he could manage. Sherlock’s were riddled with blood and bullet holes, of course. Soft peaks of sunlight crept through the flat as they finished, neither paying any mind to the time, simply enjoying their task at hand.  
“I think these turned out rather well, don’t you, love?” John set the last plate on the counter, admiring the collection of festively decorated bodies. Wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s neck, he bent and kissed him softly. “Thank you, Sherlock. It’s been a perfect Christmas.”  
image  
Sherlock turned in his chair, looking into his husband’s eyes. “I love you John Hamish Watson. Happy Christmas.”

“I love you, Sherlock. Happy Christmas.”


End file.
